


Still Running

by Nerd_of_Camelot



Category: DCU
Genre: Aftermath of a Case, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Raven, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Relationships, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Cigarettes, Crime Fighting, Dick Grayson Has Issues, Dick Grayson Has Secrets, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Not Nightwing, Dick Grayson is Not Okay, Dick Grayson is Renegade, Dick Grayson-centric, Drug Abuse, Empath Raven (DCU), Fist Fights, Gen, Heroes to Anti-Heroes, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Partnership, Past Drug Addiction, Protective Slade Wilson, Recovery, Running Away, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, everyone is a BAMF, he's not the villain, the tags make bruce seem like a bad guy but he's really doing his best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28788381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerd_of_Camelot/pseuds/Nerd_of_Camelot
Summary: "We had rules, Dick."Bruce's mouth was drawn into a frown, brows furrowed ― he didn't lookangryso much as he looked disappointed.Dick looked away, gritting his teeth. "No." He bit out,"Youhad rules, Bruce."Even looking away, he caught the wince. And even looking away, he could hear the strain when Bruce uttered his name again."Don't." He sighed. "The damage is done, Bruce, it has been for years."Bruce winced once more, harder. At least Dick knew he found truth in the words, from that.It was silent a moment, long enough he started getting anxious. But then, slowly, "... You've been with Deathstroke."
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Garfield Logan & Raven & Victor Stone, Dick Grayson & Slade Wilson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Comments: 15
Kudos: 158





	1. reaching out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Disclaimer:  
>  We should all have hope  
> and look towards the day  
> where a man realizes  
> that the sounds exiting his mouth  
> are mostly complaints  
> and a change occurs!"_
> 
> -Still Running, Chevelle

The messages had been sitting on his phone, unopened, for nearly an hour now.

They were not at all the first of their kind ― in the year since Dick had skipped town, Bruce had texted him at least twice a month to update him on Tim and Damian. It wasn't something that Dick had asked him to do, and it certainly said something about the lengths he'd had to go to just to get Bruce to treat him like a fucking adult for once, but he'd appreciated the updates nonetheless. Once or twice he even replied to an update with a congratulations or a note of concern! But usually he opened them and left them. Bruce could see that he'd read them, and that was generally all that mattered. He'd read them, so he was fine, and no one at all needed to come looking for him.

It was amazing it had worked so far, really, because part of him had been expecting (hoping?) that Damian would track him down and try to drag him back to Gotham within the first three months.

No such thing had happened.

He shook the thought off with an uncomfortable roll and shake of his shoulders, staring at his phone on the coffee table and taking a long drag off the cigarette between his fingers.

He exhaled the smoke in a cloud and couldn't help _squinting_ at the phone.

Despite the more or less bi-weekly updates on Tim and Damian, if there was terribly much for Bruce to say he would text first ― usually some derivative of "long update" ―, then call and leave a voicemail. He never texted more than two or three times in a row after the first month. So getting something like ten texts in a row from him over the course of five minutes was cause for some concern. He hadn't even finished flicking his notification bar down to look at the message preview for the first text before the second rolled in. So he'd set the phone down on the table and he'd stared at it until it finally stopped vibrating with new messages.

But so far he'd sat here like an idiot, staring at the phone but never picking it up to look.

Admittedly? He was scared to.

He was terrified that it was something Bruce thought was urgent, that he was needed and that he wouldn't be strong enough to tell Bruce no. He was terrified that even after a year away he wouldn't be able to make himself stay away if Bruce said he needed him.

He was terrified, because he hadn't hung up his Nightwing suit and moved to Coast City for no reason ― he'd done it to _get away._ To get out from under Bruce's thumb and stop being his ― his _what?_ His attack dog? The one that Bruce called on to do all those little unpleasant things he didn't want to do personally. The one that Bruce expected to listen and obey no matter what, no matter if they fought about the how and the why, no matter if Dick dragged his feet getting it done.

He was tired of it.

All of it.

And especially tired of his relationship with Bruce as a whole.

... And, to be honest, his relationships with everyone else.

Of all his friendships and other relationships, only he, Tim, and Damian really had anything substantial at this stage. Anything healthy. And, of course he'd screwed all that up by just jumping ship and leaving them both behind, but he'd needed to cut ties completely or else Bruce would have been able to keep dragging him back. The fact that he hadn't tried regardless was something damn near suspicious.

Sure, he still loved Gar and Rae and Cy to death, and he still had a soft spot for Kori and Roy and Jay, but... Really. _Really,_ Tim and Dami were the only ones he'd had a solid relationship with in recent years.

He guessed that was part of why leaving had been so easy.

Damian and Tim... Well, sooner or later they would probably forgive him.

Probably.

And if they didn't, that was okay. He knew he'd fucked up.

... And there he went, trailing off in his thoughts again, avoiding looking at the phone. Avoiding reading the messages.

He huffed, annoyed, snuffing what little remained of the cig and snatching his phone up off the table.

_B: I have no expectations for a reply of any kind, and you are completely free to ignore everything I say after this point. All I ask is that you hear me out._

_B: There's an emergency in Gotham and the surrounding cities. It isn't immediately urgent, and I won't ask that you come back to help with it._

_B: You made your stance on living here and working with me very clear, and I will not argue or try to force cooperation._

_B: Primarily I am informing you in an attempt to keep you updated._

_B: However, I admit that the situation is growing more tense by the day, and while I don't doubt Tim or Damian's abilities, nor those of anyone else helping us..._

_B: We need you._

_B: You have the most experience, you are the most skilled, and you are the only one other than myself that Tim and Damian will listen to._

_B: They need you, Dick. Even if all you can offer is a guiding hand from a distance, it will be greatly appreciated._

_B: Again. I do not expect anything of you, and you are free to ignore me._

_B: But I worry that without you, we may not succeed easily. Your expertise would be an invaluable asset._

He blew out a breath he hadn't realized that he was holding. An emergency?

God, of _course._

He gritted his teeth, exiting his messages and opening up the news app on his phone. If there was anything of the magnitude Bruce was talking about, it'd be there for him to see.

And, teeth unclenching and a sigh leaving him, he found it was. Some plot from a concerning number of the major villains in the area, and even some from _outside_ that area. No one knew the details yet... No one at any news sources at least ― he must have spent twenty minutes trawling through the respectable news sights he knew, then the less respectable ones, and there was almost nothing concrete on any of them, aside from several notes that Batman was teaming up with every available vigilante.

Even Jason had been spotted helping out.

... He was the only one missing, huh?

From all these pictures it sure seemed like he was the only one short of Kori who wasn't around to help out. But last he'd heard, Kori was on Tameran anyway. She had a real excuse ― any distress signals would take days to reach her, if not weeks.

Dick was still on the planet, still in the continental US, and still had cell signal.

If he said no, if he stayed, what would they all think?

Admittedly, he expected the thought by itself to mortify him, but... It didn't. There was a feeling of anxiety when he specifically wondered how Tim and Damian and Alfred would feel, what they would think, but everyone else... There really wasn't anything. At worst a faint echo of the anxiety he felt about Tim and Dami, since the anxiety with Alfred was more about Alfred himself than what he might think of Dick if he stayed away.

Huh.

Well, he guessed, sighing again, that made sense.

At least one of his goals since leaving had been accomplished ― he cared less what others thought.

He wasn't tearing himself apart at the seams to keep everyone happy.

Still, scrubbing his hands over his face after dropping his phone back onto the coffee table, he couldn't help being annoyed with himself. He should go, shouldn't he? He shouldn't even be spending all this time thinking about it. Going and helping was the right thing to do, and he could come back here as soon as he was done.

On the other hand, though.

He really, _really_ hadn't done all this, hadn't stayed away all this time, just to go back at the first sign of Bruce needing him.

Was it fair to the others to stay gone? Was it fair to _him_ to go?

He read back over his messages and found something important ― Bruce was kissing up to him. The talk of his _capabilities..._ Textbook ass-kissing, right there. Appealing to his ego rather than his heart. It was manipulative and nasty but... Ugh, he knew _why,_ and he knew that Bruce wasn't really trying to _manipulate_ him, he was just playing the cards he thought would get Dick to at least keep reading. He... He must have genuinely thought he couldn't manage this without Dick.

He really, _really_ had to think it was serious to stoop to stroking Dick's ego to try and get him to come back to help.

He huffed and scrubbed at his face again.

What was he going to do about this?

... Ultimately, he already knew he would probably be leaving some time tonight, but he still wanted to think it over a little longer before he made the final decision.

He lit up another cigarette and took a long drag. It was gonna be a _long_ night.

* * *

By 10PM, he'd packed the shit he figured he'd need and made peace with the idea that the Dick his brothers saw walk in would not be the same Dick that they last watched leave. It got a bitter snort as he shoved his sidearm into the holster on the back of his right hip.

If only they'd known the kind of person he was when he wasn't busy fearing the consequences from Bruce or caught up in his own moral dilemma.

... That said, though, he was glad that they hadn't known.

He'd like to keep it that way, but... They needed him. And if they needed him, he had to go back. But he'd broken down so many of his old rules and walls that he couldn't possibly build himself back into the person they'd known over the course of the drive there. He wouldn't _want_ to, either ― not necessarily. He didn't want them to see how violent and cruel he could be, he didn't want them to see a murderer, but the fact of the matter was that he couldn't be Nightwing again at this stage anyway. Because he _was_ a murderer, and he could hold back and keep from killing anyone all he wanted because he'd done it before, but he couldn't reconcile the person he'd become with the person who should be wearing that suit.

So he'd be going as he was.

Honestly, that was kind of scary.

But he was going to do it anyway. What was he if not a man who faced his fears instead of running from them?

The front door opened and shut, and he shoved the last of his things into his duffel. He met Slade in the living room, where he'd yet to clean out his ashtray and had no intentions of bothering to do before he left anyway.

"Going somewhere?" The man arched an eyebrow.

"Gotham." He grunted in turn, shouldering his bag and snatching his keys up off the coffee table.

The other brow rose to match the first, but Slade didn't question him outright ― he never did, these days. The first time they'd worked together, sure, but not this time. There was a good ten, eleven years of difference between the times, and they were more partners than Master and Apprentice this time regardless. If Dick wanted to go back, Slade would never try to stop him. But he would wonder.

"You seen the news?" He chose to ask the older man, and at that Slade's brows dropped instantly. "... My brothers come first."

"Of course," Slade agreed, nodding, "Let me know if you need any help."

"Mhm." He managed a quirk of his lips, which Slade returned, and then he was snagging his cigarettes and lighter and slipping out the door.

He paused with one leg thrown over his bike to withdraw his phone. He stared hard at the messages again for a moment, asked himself one last time if he was really doing this, and huffed when he realized the answer was still yes.

_D: On my way._

He shoved the phone into his pocket, started his bike, and took off back toward Gotham.

It was going to be a long drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back on my angst-riddled Dick-centric bullshit (although "back" implies I ever quit lol), and while I have a lot of fun doing it and I'm not at all upset that I've got a consistent thing I like to write, I'd really like to do a few fics focusing more on some of the other characters! However, every time I try to do it on my own, I end up with no ideas or it still somehow focuses on Dick, just from someone else's POV ;w;
> 
> So, basically, feel free to hit me up with some prompts! Vague ideas, bits of dialogue, general AUs are welcome, but anything more detailed will be more of a request than a prompt lol
> 
> Also am I the only one who doesn't like the mask on the canon Renegade suit? Like, that style just does not work for that... So I always give Renegade a Red Hood/Deathstroke-ish helmet.
> 
> aaand I dunno when I'll update this again since I'm in the process of packing/moving and I've got a few other things in my drafts that I need to write before the draft disappears, but I'll try to get it finished fairly quickly. Not gonna be as much "story" as I usually bother with, mostly gonna focus on the feelings lmfao
> 
> Anyways here's my [Tumblr](fusion-ego.tumblr.com), feel free to prompt me or just come yell about DC, lol


	2. family reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Rejected by the purifier,  
>  Chosen by the beast.  
> The ones who really lit the fire  
> Start to show their teeth."_
> 
> -Kerosene, Red Vox

He arrived in Gotham a little over two days later, dressed in the same clothes he'd left Coast City in and pretty much ready to drop off to sleep as soon as he'd taken a seat. He'd barely slept on the way ― had conked out in a hotel for a couple of hours before the last leg of the journey, but had ultimately woken far too quickly and been unable to make himself delay any further despite the waste of money. But it wasn't as if he didn't have that in spades, these days.

Mercenary work paid a lot better than the whole vigilante gig did.

He came to a stop outside one of his Gotham safehouses a little after two in the afternoon and, after ensuring no one unsavory had moved in during his absence, collapsed onto the old shitty, musty-smelling futon in the corner. He didn't have the time nor the patience to change his clothes ― right now what he needed as as much sleep as he could get before he had to go deal with Bruce. And he knew he'd cut it close, really, on how little sleep he could reasonably operate on. It was best if he showed up to the Cave at least with more than five hours of sleep out of the last thirty-six of them.

He didn't even bother taking off his boots.

He just reclined, hand on his bag, and passed out.

He woke up at a little after seven, and with a grunt and a few choice grumbles decided it was best if he just got this part over with.

He got up, threw his bag back over his shoulder, and made the final trek to the back entrance to the Manor ― the long, winding road to the Cave.

It had been so long since he'd been this way that it felt illegal to be taking the road, but he ignored that feeling the best he could. He just needed to get in, talk to Bruce about what exactly was happening, figure out what he needed to do as a result, and start doing that. The less he had to talk to Bruce after today, the better. And for the sake of his sanity he had to ignore that he would also need to deal with apologizing to his brothers.

He could do that... When Bruce wasn't around.

The Cave was blessedly quiet when he arrived, with only the sounds of someone at the computer and some quiet talking. Probably Tim, dealing with the technical side of things as he usually did.

He dropped his bag on one of the tables and, sighing, began the lengthy process of disarming himself. An eventual accidental glance toward the computer showed Tim watching him, looking a little bit rattled. He imagined probably by the presence of weapons on him, as well as the _number_ of weapons.

More or less satisfied, he shucked his jacket and started up the stairs.

Maybe if he didn't look at Tim, Tim would think he hadn't seen him and he could just... Postpone their reunion until later.

He nearly bumped into who else but Raven on his way up the stairs, at which point he realized he'd been followed out of the Cave by Tim because he only narrowly avoided running into him in his attempt to not run into Raven. And he felt just the mildest hint of anxiety seeing her here ― a mild hint that swiftly turned into annoyance as he purposely shut her out just when her face started to reflect what she'd unintentionally found just by being in proximity to him.

"Dick," She started.

"Not now." He replied, rather flatly, "Okay?"

"But..." She hesitated, "Dick, you―"

"I know. But not _now."_

She ceded with lifted hands, and continued down into the Cave with nary a backwards glance.

Dick resumed his ascent and his ignoring of Tim's presence at his side.

He wasn't looking forward to having a conversation about this with Bruce with Tim nearby but he guessed secrets didn't really last in this family anyway, so he may as well air out the fact that he and Bruce's relationship had never once been healthy and he'd probably hated the guy longer than some of the vigilantes that were around these days had even been able to form conscious memories. What was the harm? They clearly already knew the relationship wasn't great considering he'd skipped town and his note had specifically laid what little blame there was for that on Bruce.

He wondered what had happened to that note, honestly. Had Bruce kept it?

It seemed likely ― it wasn't exactly uncommon for Bruce to hold onto things that he could emotionally torture himself with.

Cresting the top of the stairs, he wasn't surprised to see Damian or Jason. Seeing them together was no more of a surprise than seeing them alone would have been. That Roy wasn't hanging around was the only thing throwing him off at all, but he guessed even Roy probably had things he was meant to be doing at the moment. For the time being he merely slipped past them without much concern for whether or not they saw him.

"Dick?" Asked Jason, sounding rather taken aback.

Bruce must not have told them he was coming.

Fucking _typical._

He grunted in response, heading for the kitchen ― dinner would have been served about half an hour ago, if Alfred still served it at 7 sharp, and Bruce tended to dither around in the kitchen or dining room for several minutes after he finished eating. Taking time to get ready mentally for a night of patrol, usually. Probably just thinking, this time, as usual when there was something big going down.

There were footsteps behind him, and he resisted the urge to huff in annoyance. Still being followed, then.

Probably by all three of his brothers, if he was particularly unlucky.

He fought the urge to grumble, as well, when he remembered that he'd neglected to remove his sidearm from its holster, and the holster from his body. All that effort disarming himself summarily wasted because the weight of the Glock was too familiar to him for him to remember to remove it. Fuck him.

Whatever.

He found Bruce in the dining room, as he'd expected to, and with a sigh he took up a position against a temporarily displaced folding table that sat against one of the walls of the oversized room.

"Bruce." He greeted, watching his brothers filter into the room from the corner of his eye.

He couldn't blame them for watching him, really.

He'd dropped off the face of the Earth with no warning over a year ago, and now he shows back up packing heat and a bad case of resting bitchface? Hello new thing to focus on to distract themselves from the other shit going on. Tim especially must be trying to analyze him. Jason was probably just wondering when and why Dick stole his aesthetic. And Damian... Well. He was probably trying to see if Dick was a threat to him now.

"I wasn't sure when to expect you," Bruce greeted in turn, ignoring his other sons for the time being. It was easier to forget they were there, that way, and Dick was glad for it. "You didn't exactly give me an estimate."

"You didn't just check the tracker you stuck in my shoulder when I was 12?" He snorted, a little flatly, "Did I manage to break it at some point?"

"I thought I'd try to respect your privacy by not snooping."

"Shocker."

There was a brief silence as Bruce observed him and he observed Bruce in return. The man was starting to get gray hairs. Was he that old, or was he just that stressed? Dick would wager both. It was amazing how much of that stress could be avoided if he would just stop being such an emotionally repressed _douche_ who actually let other people help him instead of ignoring that there was a problem. Lord knew it had done Dick a world of good to admit he had issues and let Slade help him out when he needed it.

"We had rules, Dick."

Bruce's mouth was drawn into a frown, brows furrowed ― he didn't look _angry_ so much as he looked disappointed.

And Dick looked away, gritting his teeth. How _dare_ Bruce look disappointed in him? He had no right. _None._ Even if he knew Dick had broken those rules, he had no right to be _disappointed_ that Dick hadn't continued to blindly follow his orders. And to bring up the _rules..._ He didn't want anything to do with this right now.

"No." He bit out, _"You_ had rules, Bruce."

Rules that had, by the way, resulted in a lot of secrets and a lot of animosity between them.

Even looking away, he caught the wince at his words and their implied meaning. And even looking away, he could hear the strain when Bruce uttered his name again.

"Don't." He sighed. "The damage is done, Bruce, it has been for years."

Bruce winced once more, harder. At least Dick knew he found truth in the words, from that. Good.

At least he knew he'd fucked up.

It was silent a moment, long enough he started getting anxious. He hated that Bruce could still have that kind of affect on him ― but really, silence did that to him all on its own when he was midway through an uncomfortable confrontation.

But then, slowly, "... You've been with Deathstroke."

"No, really?" He rolled his eyes, overcome with annoyance once more, and looked back to Bruce specifically for the purpose of giving him a flat and unimpressed look, "How'd you guess?"

Still, some anxiety wormed its way back in, and he had to fight not to look and see how his little brothers had reacted to that news.

And Bruce didn't look disappointed, now. He just looked... Sad.

And that stung a whole lot worse.

He gritted his teeth.

"Dick..."

"Don't." He spat.

And Bruce honest-to-God _flinched._ Full-body. Raised his hands in surrender, dipping his head in an attempt to pacify him, "I'm not― I'm not trying to lecture you. I've learned that's... The wrong way to go about it."

"Took you long enough." He snorted, and directed his eyes at the new paintjob the dining room had gotten in his absence. Soft purple ― very gentle, very calm. Must set a nice mood for dinners. Better than the old beige had, at least.

Bruce sighed, then continued, carefully, "I just... Don't quite understand, I suppose. I know you didn't get a choice the first time you worked with him... So why go back? By all accounts, including _yours,_ working for him was traumatizing. I can't wrap my head around you going back to that willingly."

And, honestly? This was a lot worse than a lecture. He'd _prefer_ the lecture over whatever the fuck _this_ was. He wanted to snarl. He wanted to tell Bruce that he'd changed his mind, and he was going back to Slade, and they could handle this on their own, actually. But instead he merely gritted his teeth and hated the way it had his guts knotting themselves up that his brothers were staring at him like he'd grown a second head. He hadn't even intended to look at them.

God _fucking_ dammit.

He huffed, searching for anything else he could look at but finding nothing except for Bruce himself. "You know I don't care that you don't understand, right? You realize it doesn't matter to me _at all?"_ And when Bruce didn't flinch, and merely nodded, he huffed again. "... I dunno if anybody ever bothered pointing it out to you, Bruce ― although it's pretty clear from _this_ that no one did ―, but working for _you_ was traumatizing, too." He motioned vaguely around him, then at himself, "And yet, here I am."

"Here you are," Bruce agreed, then sighed. "I wondered about that, too." He admitted, "Even before your brothers were in the picture... No matter how many times you ran off, no matter how many times you screamed in my face and told me you hated me, you came back. You _always_ came back. It didn't make any sense."

Oh, they were _really_ airing out the dirty laundry, weren't they? Fine. Dick could play that game.

"I didn't have anywhere else to fucking _go,_ Bruce." He snapped, "I was ten, eleven, twelve. Thirteen ― how _ever_ fucking old I was at the time. It wasn't like I could just move away and get my own place. And you _know_ that after that, I came back for _them."_ He jerked a thumb at his brothers, and it showed how they felt currently that _all three of them flinched._

"You never came back for Jason," Bruce pointed out, calmly, not accusatory at all.

And yet Dick still felt like he was being accused of something.

"That wasn't fucking about him and you know it." He hissed, bristling like a cornered cat, gritting his teeth.

"It was." Bruce countered, "It _was_ about him. It just wasn't his _fault."_

"It was yours." He chose to acknowledge, narrowing his eyes, "At least you're right about _that."_

"Still." The older man sighed, shoulders drooping a bit, "You came back because you had nowhere to go, and then you came back for Tim. But we both know it wasn't because you cared about him."

Though he'd started to relax, he bristled again instantly at the very _implication_ that he didn't care about Tim. Was that what this was really about? Bruce punishing him by implying that he was a bad older brother? That he didn't care about his little brothers? Or about the city? He could have snarled. He could have _bitten_ him.

"Don't you _dare―"_ He spat, straightening and pushing away from the table.

"I'm not saying you don't care about him _now."_ Bruce said, firmly enough that Dick paused, "I'm saying that you didn't _at the time._ You had the very same problem with him that you had with Jason." At that, the man paused, then sagged and sighed, "But you came back for him, anyway. And I'm still not sure why. Was it out of a sense of duty? Is that why you're here now?"

... This really was about Bruce not understanding why he was here.

Huh.

He guessed it said something about him, and about Bruce, that he always expected there to be some kind of hidden motive.

Still, that knowledge wasn't enough to dislodge the venom in his throat or the way he felt like he was about to shudder apart with rage. This was a hell of a way to ask him why he had decided to come back to help. He could have just accepted it and not looked a gift horse in the mouth.

He was tempted, again, to turn on his heel and leave.

Instead, he clenched his jaw and settled back against the table, trying to channel some of Slade's cold, _calm_ anger instead of his own burning anger. "I'm here now because you kissed my ass hard enough, and because I can't justify staying away if my brothers really need my help."

The man who had taken him in nodded, accepting the answer, and Dick was naive enough to hope that was the end of it.

"And when you came back for Tim?" He asked, calmly.

He ground his teeth to keep from pushing away from the table again, then ground out, "I came back for Tim because I'd just had it established to me not very long beforehand that you weren't fucking capable of keeping him safe."

And at that, the man finally flinched again, turning his gaze downward. Breaking eye contact.

And against his will, Dick found his own eyes strafing toward his brothers.

His poor, shell-shocked brothers. They were just... Staring. Silent, scared. It was painful to see, really, and he tore his gaze from them to look back at Bruce even as a shudder traveled its way down his spine.

He crossed his arms, dug his fingers into his ribs and his bicep hard enough to ache. Leaned against the table. "Whatever. It doesn't matter. Why I'm here _doesn't matter."_ He said it firmly enough that he saw his brothers flinch again at the same moment that Bruce gave a vague wince and looked to him again, "You said you needed me here. I'm here. Tell me what I need to be doing."

For a moment, the man who raised him only stared. But then, he nodded. Sighed. "Alright. Basically..."

And Dick listened attentively as he explained the current situation, and what exactly he'd need Dick to be managing. Turned out he essentially needed Dick's skills not only as a vigilante _but as a leader._ He had, as he'd found, very poor organizational skills and he sucked at unifying his troops ― Dick didn't have that problem. And Dick didn't miss the obvious ego-stroking here, either, but chose to allow it as he'd allowed it in the texts. It wasn't hurting anybody.

"Works for me." He finally agreed, pushing away from the table. "I'm going to go get ready."

He slipped past his still silent brothers once more, pausing in the doorway with a sudden thread of anxiety eating him. Shouldn't he talk to them?

He dug his fingers into his ribs harder, and decided no.

No, not yet.

He continued out of the room.

He needed time to calm down before he tried to talk to any of them, so he may as well go and do as he'd said he was doing ― get ready. After all, Bruce had said that the others would be gathering in the Cave sometime soon to be briefed for what they needed to be doing for the night. And it was now Dick's duty to determine that... Which meant he needed to shower, re-arm himself, get acquainted with the current case, and be ready to brief a roomful of vigilantes within the next hour.

Not exactly child's play, and he had to admit that he was a little glad for the hard work.

Merc work paid well, but it wasn't always challenging when one put into perspective the kind of training he had.

And, admittedly, now that he wasn't in it because he felt like he couldn't _not_ do his part to help? He was pretty much only in the vigilante thing for the challenge of it. Even enemies he knew and could predict still provided an interesting fight most times. And this was a potentially long-term battle involving some villains he _didn't_ know. And he was in charge of keeping everyone on task, which in the case of a lot of the people that were here to help could be like herding cats. What more could he ask for in terms of a challenge?

He dealt with the shower first and foremost, and emerged into the Cave to find Jason and Damian staring with some level of confounded, unsure skepticism at his bag and jacket. Given there was still a hunting knife sitting on the edge of the bag, half-under the jacket, he wasn't exactly surprised.

For now he ignored their looks as he pulled his jacket on over his fresh suit and began the tedious process of re-arming himself and ensuring most of his weapons were concealed.

"I have never seen you use such weapons before." Damian said, when he was nearly finished strapping a hunting knife to his thigh.

"Lethal weapons?" He asked, in turn, raising a brow at the teen.

Damian nodded. "It is... Surprising."

"Bruce insists on non-lethality." He chose to shrug, "So I complied while I was working with him."

"And now you are working... For Deathstroke?"

"I work _with_ Slade, not _for_ him." Dick corrected, and, finally finished arming himself, he turned to really look at his brothers.

Damian didn't seem so confounded now ― merely curious as he observed him. Jason looked... Like he was sucking on a lemon.

"Wipe the look of your face, Jaybird, you aren't the only one who was trained to kill people." He couldn't help the annoyed tone, "You're just the only one Bruce has given up on lecturing for it."

It got him a mild flinch, and then a fierce glare. "Oh, yeah, because you're just _such_ a well-trained killer."

"Bruce trained me specifically to kill _him."_ He responded, flatly, and then decided he didn't want to be having this conversation. "Whether you believe me or not doesn't matter, so just get the fuck over it already. You're not changing anything by sitting there glaring at me, and the more effort I waste talking about killing people the less energy I have to do my job."

Jason flinched again, expression faltering a little.

And Dick felt bad.

He sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face, and grumbled a little before looking back to Jason and sighing. "Listen. Little Wing. I'm not trying to be a douche. I'm tired, I already had to deal with Bruce today, and I'm not interested in debating my questionable morals and methods at the moment considering the fact I didn't even want any of you to know about them in the first place. Okay?"

Something in his brother seemed to settle, and his expression settled on one of understanding. "Yeah, yeah, sue, whatever."

Damian snorted, "Testy," and meandered off like he hadn't just called Dick out on his shitty mood.

What a brat.

... He'd missed him.

"We can talk about this later," He offered, to Jason, who gave the slightest hints of a smile, and then he made his way toward the computer... And Tim.

And Raven.

He nearly winced, directing his gaze away toward other noises on his way. Was that Cyborg down there with the vehicles? And Beast Boy? Damn, Cy's car was looking _nice_ these days... And BB had grown out his hair, apparently. Finally didn't look like so much of a stringbean either.

"Alright, T," He said, as he arrived, "I need the files pertaining to this case as soon as you can get them to me."

Tim blinked once, presumably processing Dick's words, then offered a folder, "I printed them while you were in the shower."

He accepted the folder and smiled a little, "On top of things as usual, I see." He flipped the folder open, briefly assessing how much he would need to read in the next half hour or so, "Great job, kiddo. I appreciate you taking initiative."

The younger man brightened considerably at the praise, perking up, and said, "Uh, y-yeah, of course! You'll, uh― Well, nevermind, you know what you're doing. I don't have to give you advice on where to start."

He chuckled, hesitating a moment before deciding not to bother with attempting to maintain any distance and reaching out to ruffle Tim's hair, "Thanks, Timmy."

He walked away, Raven at his heels, and sighed. Of course she would want to get him by himself as soon as she could in order to talk to him. She was worried, and rightfully so ― they'd barely spoken to each other in _years,_ and when she finally saw him in person again after he dropped off the map _last_ year, he came back with new problems and got annoyed when she noticed. That wasn't anything good, and given he'd always trusted her in the past... Yeah, he couldn't blame her for her worry. He could try to push it away if he could, but ultimately it wouldn't do much. She'd only get more worried if he actively pushed her out of his head.

"Okay," He said, standing near the stairs where only Cy and BB were at risk of hearing them, "Please make the questions quick, I need to brief myself before I brief everybody else."

Raven didn't seem bothered by that, simply nodding as she came to a stop next to him. "If we're being quick, I've only got one."

"Shoot."

"You're sure this is what you want to do?"

He resented the question a lot, but admittedly? He was glad that she'd asked. That she'd asked, instead of chiding him. Instead of making it into a fight. Granted, of course, he knew she would probably support him regardless ― right up until the moment they were on opposing sides. And he had always appreciated that about her, and the relationship they had with each other. They were ride or dies for each other, and the other Titans, always... Until they needed to flip the script. Until one of them became a large enough danger to everyone else in the world that they needed to do something about it.

He knew she was asking because she wanted to know that he was doing it willingly, and that he was fully aware and not about to go off the deep end. And so she knew if she needed to, maybe, keep a closer eye on him in the near future to determine if she might have to put a stop to what he was doing. Permanently.

So he took a deep breath and sighed it out through his nose. "Yes," He said, "Yes, Rae, I'm sure this is what I want to be doing. I wasn't when I started... But I am, now. And I'm not gonna go flying off the handle killing people for no reason, so you don't need to worry. I take contracts, same as Slade, I'm just a little more picky."

She examined him for a brief moment, then gave a weak smile and nodded to him. "Of course. I believe you. Just be careful, okay? I know you've been smoking again."

"Just cigarettes," He promised, "Nothing more intense. And I don't drink like I used to, either."

"I'd prefer if you didn't do either at all, but it's your body." She laughed a little, "Okay. Then I don't have anything else to talk about that won't waste valuable time. I'll leave you to it."

"Thank you." He paused, "... For letting me do my job _and_ for checking up on me. I might find it a little annoying, but I do appreciate it nonetheless."

She opened her arms, and he gave her a brief, but tight, hug, and then she meandered back over toward Tim, who really didn't seem to know what to think of her. He couldn't wait to see how the poor kid dealt with Cy... Having somebody else around who was just as smart as he was must rankle something fierce, especially when Cy waved it around just as much as Tim did sometimes. Either that, or they got along _famously._ It would be hard to guess.

Speaking of Cy...

"Hey there, Big D!" Said the man, and he was already lifting Dick off his feet before he could even reply, squeezing him tight enough to result in a resounding POP as he managed to crack the troublesome part of Dick's back that he always had trouble popping on his own. At the relieved noise he made, Cyborg laughed, "Better?"

"Better." He agreed, "Hey, V."

He sat him down, and BB was already on him.

Honestly, the reunion felt nice. But soon enough he had to usher them away so he could get started reading. He could read _quickly,_ sure, but he couldn't read fast enough to brief himself before everyone else arrived if he didn't hurry up and get started.

Ugh.

This was going to be an _adventure._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the lovely comments on the first chapter - this definitely got more traction than I expected it to and I appreciate that people are letting me know they liked it! I can't reply to every comment individually, but please know I read every single one!
> 
> This chapter actually wasn't supposed to be as long as it ended up being ― I was going to have the confrontation with Bruce and some conversation with the other brothers, but then it turned long and I honestly aint mad. I like how it turned out!
> 
> As always, let me know if you enjoyed! And don't forget to hit me up on my [Tumblr](fusion-ego.tumblr.com), if that's your thing.


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